Thorn Abbey (24 page)

Speaking of M, he texted tonight and said he wants to meet up this weekend. I don’t know what to tell him. I want to be with him, but I know I shouldn’t. I’m so mixed up.

Last night, D spent the night down the hall, and M spent the night in our room. Heaven.

And then it hits me.

Monty—“M”—is Killian Montgomery. I remember him telling me ages ago that he and Becca had nicknames for each other. She was his “Becky.” He must have been her “Monty.”

Becca was cheating on Max with Killian. With her cousin.

I
SINK DOWN TO THE FLOOR, SHAKING MY HEAD IN DISBELIEF.
Becca was hooking up with Killian, just for the sex? How long had that been going on? Did Max ever suspect?

I should have known. Max said he and Becca only dated for a few months before she died. She was writing about hooking up with “M” way back in September of the previous year.

I text both Max and Franklin to contact me
the second
their meetings are over.

I need to read more of Becca’s diary. I want to figure out what, if anything, Becca’s relationship with Killian had to do with whatever it is Devon knows about her death . . . or
thinks
she knows . . . or is
pretending
she knows.

There are so many layers to this mystery. My head is spinning, and the stress is making me hungry. I get up and grab an emergency snack from my desk—sour cream and onion chips and Double Stuf Oreos—and hunker down with the diary.

April 6

Can you believe W thought I would actually attend her birthday party? Why would I want to spend the weekend with her at her family’s little shack in Truro? I would DIE of boredom with her and the other Drama Club kids. And my lips would fall off from fake smiling for 48 straight hours.

It’s funny—W always says I’m so sweet. On the outside, I am. I have to be. Otherwise, people might start to hate me. And THEN what?

April 15

C wrote my T. S. Eliot paper for me. He thinks I’m going to break up with MX for him haha.

April 22

I actually got F to cover for me with MX when M and I had our meet-up Saturday. It didn’t take much to convince F. Poor thing, I think he has a crush on me.

April 24

I’ve got it all figured it out with MX. He gets mad when I flirt with other boys. But if I beg him for forgiveness, he’s placated. At least for a while. I do like him. Sometimes I think I could even fall in love with him. But I don’t believe in love, and besides, he’s not enough for me. I’m not sure if anyone is.

April 28

No boys around. MX and M are both out of town. It’s probably just as well because I’m feeling really fat and ugly this weekend. I need someone to remind me I’m beautiful.

Deep down I’m just like any other girl, I suppose. A bottomless pit of insecurity. So unattractive.

I need a fucking drink.

May 1

I feel a little guilty. D idolizes me. She also seems to idolize the idea of me and MX together. Like we’re some fairy-tale couple. Like we’re William and Kate.

I wonder if D suspects about M. That it’s not MX I’m actually sneaking into our room on weekends.

Wait,
what
? Devon told me that Becca used to sneak Max into their room. But it was actually Killian all along? Did Devon know?

I skip ahead to the very end. What was going on between Becca and Max and Killian right before she died?

I flip to the final entry.

It’s not from last May.

It’s from a few days ago. February 20, to be exact.

Fuck him. FUCK HIM!!!!!! He forced my hand, telling his stupid little girlfriend the truth. Well, his version of the truth anyway. How DARE he say those things about me?

This is all his fault. HIS FAULT. Besides, D stopped listening and obeying. She’s been way too nice, too forgiving. What, is that pathetic poser her new BFF now? I warned her about that.

I don’t know if it was the meds or what. I should have made her stop taking them way sooner. In any case, I lost her. She was lost. I had to lead her to the cliff. She had to die. People have to know what really happened last spring.

She had to die?
Who
had to die?

This is beyond freaky. Frowning, I read the entry once,
twice, three times. The handwriting is almost but not quite the same as the handwriting in the rest of the diary.

What the hell? Did Devon have a total psychotic breakdown? Does she believe on some unconscious level that she’s Becca?

Did
she
kill Becca? But the timing doesn’t work.

I lean back in my chair and munch on an Oreo and think about when I first met Devon. And all the creepy things that started happening when I arrived at Thorn Abbey. The mysterious crying from Gita’s room next door. Devon’s sleep-talking spells in the middle of the night.

Soon after that, me getting injured on the Kerrith stairs. The glowing seagull. The burning-hot inscription in Max’s book of love poems. The flying ember at the Corn Roast. The bloodred message on the wall above my bed. The lounge vandalization.

And all the rest of it, too: tapping noises on the ceiling, temperature changes, more sleep-talking.

I think about last Tuesday, when we found Devon’s lifeless body on the beach. She was dead. She was absolutely, positively dead. I’m sure of it.

When she got home from the hospital, she was so chipper and cheerful at first. She acted so sweet around her mom. The same person Devon routinely called a “psychotic bitch” and “annoying whore.”

If you met her, you’d think she was the sweetest, kindest, most together girl.

Then she drugged Max and tried to have sex with him.

And turned him in to the police.

It was all an act.

She was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

I bolt straight up.

Oh my God.

Devon doesn’t
think
she’s Becca.

Devon
is
Becca.

A
T A QUARTER TILL FIVE
, I
FINALLY GET A TEXT FROM
M
AX.

It’s over. All is well. Meet me at the assembly at five and I’ll tell you everything.

Assembly? At five? And then I remember. There is a special Founder’s Assembly in Lanyon Hall, commemorating the founding of Thorn Abbey.

Despite the fact that I’m freaking out and hyperventilating and basically losing my mind, I manage to remember that I’m supposed to be in dress uniform for this event. I peel off my jeans and hoodie and throw on my white blouse, plaid skirt, navy blazer, and tights. I glance in the mirror. My skirt is inside out. My tights have a big hole in them. Cursing in frustration,
I ransack my dresser for a new pair of tights while I balance on one leg and peel off my skirt.

I have to take a deep breath and chill.

But how can I?

Becca never died. Not really. As far as I can piece together, her spirit lived on even after her body was gone and messed with me . . . and Max? . . . and other people too? . . . all these months.

I should have listened to Kayleigh. Thorn Abbey
is
haunted. And now Devon, or the person who used to be Devon, is possessed by Becca’s ghost. Or demon. Or whatever.

I peer nervously around the room. Is Devon/Becca here right now? Can she turn invisible? Slink into walls and ceilings? Read minds? I have no idea how paranormal creatures operate or what superpowers they have, if any.

I have to get out of here, like,
now
. I don’t want to be alone.

And I have to tell Max right away. We need to find Devon/Becca and stop her somehow before she does any more damage.

That is, if Max will believe my demented story. I barely believe it myself.

Once inside Lanyon Hall, I sprint all the way to the main auditorium in my good shoes. Or what Devon used to call my
“knockoffs of discount shoes pretending to be knockoffs,” back in her super-bitchy days.

I brush back a tear. I can’t believe Devon is actually dead. She wasn’t a saint. Far from it. But she didn’t deserve to have her life taken by an evil succubus who used to be her best friend.

As I run, I try Max on his cell several times, but the calls keep failing. Reception in Lanyon is spotty. I heard the school is planning to renovate the building next year. Hopefully, there will be real coverage then. It’s after five, so the halls are pretty much empty except for me and a couple of other latecomers, including Mila Kunis.

“Hey, Tess. Where’s the fire?” she jokes.

I smile grimly at her and hurry my steps.

Outside the auditorium, I pull open one of the double doors and hold it for Mila Kunis. A few others slip in too. The door closes behind me, and a faint clang sounds above the din of everyone talking.

The room is packed with students, teachers, and administrators. On the stage, Headmaster Henle fiddles with the microphone; he taps it and turns it on and off while behind him a panel of speakers sip water and wait patiently.

I spot Max in one of the back rows. He cranes his neck and waves me over. I see Franklin on the other side of the aisle, and
Yoonie, Elinor, and Priscilla, too. Killian is up front. But I don’t see Devon/Becca anywhere.

I scoot into the seat next to Max. He smiles wearily and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you,” he murmurs.

His hair is rumpled, and there are black circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in days. My heart aches for him. He’s been through so much these past twenty-four hours.

And now I’m about to tell him the worst part.

I take a deep breath. “Max. We have to talk.”

“I know, I know,” Max says hastily. “I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday. And today, too. The meeting went on forever, and it was a fucking nightmare. My parents are in Hong Kong on business, so they had our family lawyer fly up from the city to represent me.”

“But, Max—”

“No, it’s okay. Everything’s fine now. It’s complicated. This morning, Devon went to the police and told them that she saw me kill Becca, the night she died. But Franklin gave me an alibi, so I’ve been cleared.”

Franklin gave me an alibi.
What alibi? Max didn’t mention Franklin when he told me about that awful night with Becca.

But we don’t have time to get into that now. “That’s great news,” I say, giving him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re okay. But
that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve figured it out. Devon isn’t Devon. She’s Becca.”

Max looks at me like I’m a total lunatic.

Microphone feedback screeches over the speakers. “Okay, well, now that we’ve got this puppy working . . . welcome to our annual Founder’s Assembly!” Headmaster Henle says loudly.

Everyone claps politely.

“Before I introduce our speakers, I want to say a few words about what Thorn Abbey means to me, both as a physical and nonphysical entity,” he goes on.

Max leans toward me. “You’re joking, right?” he whispers.

“The physical entity, of course, is what we owe to the generosity and long-range vision of the late, great Mr. Augustus Thorn. The nonphysical entity is the rest of it: our mission, our curriculum, our high standards.”

“I know it sounds insane. But the person you
think
is Devon is actually Becca in Devon’s body,” I whisper back to Max.

The precalc teacher, Mr. Millstein, twists around in his seat. “No talking, please,” he says sternly.

“Sorry, sir,” Max apologizes. He turns to me and mouths:
What?

Frustrated, I pull out my cell phone and start composing a text:

B’s ghost or whatever has been haunting Thorn Abbey. She tried to keep us apart and break us up. She also tried to make my life miserable. Sometimes she used D to help her.

Last Mon. you told me you never loved B and said those other things about her. I think that made her really mad. So she killed D and took over her body.

I’m afraid of what she might do next.

I pass my phone to Max.

As he reads, the color drains from his face.

“On this day in 1875, Augustus Thorn gifted his magnificent estate to our school,” Headmaster Henle says, sweeping his arms in a wide circle.

Just then, I notice a strange smell. A burning smell.

Max shoves my phone at me.

HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THIS??????

I type back:

Too much to explain now. I read B’s old diary. It was in D’s desk. There was a new entry from last Thurs. The day “Devon” came back from the hospital. B wrote that D had to die because she wasn’t obeying anymore. She wrote that people had to know what really happened last spring, whatever that means?

Max reads my text intently. And shakes his head. And keeps shaking his head.

“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no.”

He looks as though he might start crying. I stroke his arm. It can’t be easy for him to learn that his dead ex-girlfriend is a murderer. Also, that she’s not exactly dead.

The burning smell is stronger now. A few seats over, a girl sniffs and asks, “Is that smoke?”

Several people point to the ceiling. I glance up. A thin ribbon of black curls out from under one of the fluorescent lights. More smoke snakes out from the overhead air vents.